by Robin Roseau
“Juleena or Alta, do you have more to say?”
The two eyed each other, then Alta nodded to Juleena, and so she spoke. “This is Marport, our capital,” she reminded them. “There are many reasons someone might visit, and it is not so isolated as some places in Alteara. Also, our winters are far milder, so travel is easier. If your families wish, I am sure they could visit.”
I answered a few questions, most of them easier. When the questioned slowed, I then said, “I want to know how each of you feel. Tyreen? Please speak plainly.”
She took me at my word. “I was scared,” she said. “And upset. I’d worked hard to become a scribe. I didn’t know we would live in the palace! I didn’t even know if the goddess was real. But we all felt her. We all felt our Prestainamatta!”
“We did,” I agreed.
“I’m intimidated at how much I have to learn. I thought I was done with so much learning, and now I have to start over.”
“I imagine that is a shock,” I said. “I was ten and three when I was taken from my family in a trade for peace between our peoples. I was ten and eight when I was taken again, entirely against my will, and brought to Alteara. That was ten years ago, so perhaps few of you remember. But I thought everything I’d been learning for five years was for nothing. And then, over two years later, I returned here, but embracing my role, and it was another beginning. I was nearly twenty and one before I truly began to learn how to be a priestess for our Prestainamatta.”
I looked into Tyreen’s eyes. “I understand starting over. But everything you have learned in the past, you will use, and it is not so much to learn.”
“Only two languages,” she said.
“And the ways of our Prestainamatta,” I added. “Do you wish you had not been selected?”
She thought, but only a moment, then shook her head and smiled. “No.” Her smile broadened. “I live in the palace.”
“At least for now.”
“My old master hasn’t even met Queen Ralalta. I am to now become friends with her granddaughters.”
“And her foster daughter,” I added.
“I like learning,” she added.
“Good,” I declared. “That is good. Gressa?”
“I wouldn’t have chosen this,” she said, and she brushed at her hair. “And I’m a little nervous, but I think I’m looking forward to it.” She paused. “Yallameenara, there are things that were important to me.”
“Tell me, and we’ll see what we can do.”
“If I am declared a journeywoman in the scribe guild, could we have a small celebration, and could we invite some of my family?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And the other...” She paused. “To remain a member of the scribe guild, there are fees. Is it possible? I would like to one day stand in the scribe hall as a Master Scribe.”
I grinned broadly. “We are of one mind, Gressa.” And I caught Tyreen’s eye as well.
* * * *
Events over the next few weeks were a whirlwind. As I was just discussing the scribe guild, I should continue from there.
Larien made the arrangements, but we decided we wished to make this a formal request, and so she made the appointment, but she and I presented ourselves to the scribe guildhall in Marport. We met with a woman named Rustaleen, the Senior Master of the Scribe Guild. She invited us into her office, presented tea, and then asked what she could do for the palace.
“I am not here on behalf of the palace,” I said. “I am here in my official duties as High Priestess to the Goddess Yahamala.”
The woman leaned back. “Do you wish my guild to produce religious tracts for your order?”
“Indirectly,” I said. “Do you wish the long explanation or cut straight to the meat of the matter?”
“Is this a simple matter?”
“In a way, but in a way, not at all simple.”
“Then I would enjoy complete understanding.”
“All right.” I fingered my hair, and then Larien’s, and we explained this was done naturally by the Goddess when she selected a priestess. We talked a few minutes, answering her questions. And then I said, “And the Goddess has selected new priestesses here in Framara.”
“I have heard,” she said.
“Perhaps you have not heard, but other than my two daughters, and the daughter of a dear friend, all are former apprentices to members of your guild.”
“I was aware some were,” she replied. “I was not aware it was so encompassing.”
I explained about the books, although I said they were housed at one of our abbeys, and I explained I wished to duplicate the library, in time, but that some of the books could only be read by one of my priestesses.
The woman began to smile. “And so your goddess claimed a number of scribes to assist you.”
“You see the matter,” I said. I explained a little more and then said, “And now we come to the meat. I wish these girls to remain members of your guild. I wish the two eldest to be tested to see if they may be admitted as journeywomen of your guild, and later as masters.”
“And of the younger children?”
“They will be attending school, and learning many things, but I wish them to continue to learn the ways of a scribe.”
“And you wish them to one day also stand in this hall, and be admitted as journeywomen, and eventually master of this guild.”
“Yes,” I said. “Just so. But I admit I do not know what I am asking.”
She laughed. “Our guild -- indeed, all the guilds of Framara -- serve several purposes. Some of those purposes are in support and protection of our members, and several are in protection of the people of Framara.”
“I don’t quite understand.”
“Let us start with protecting the people. If someone is registered as a Master Scribe in good standing with the Scribe Guild, that means they have demonstrated competence as a scribe, and that they have pledged to follow our code of conduct. It means, at the very least, they are a good scribe, and conscientious in their business practices.”
“If you hire such a person,” I said, “You can trust the job will be performed well.”
“Yes, but more than that, you can also trust the work will be performed with discretion. Scribes are not blabbermouths. That does not mean information never leaks, as scribes employ apprentices, and there are other ways information could leak from a scribe of this guild, but such leaks are not the norm. It means if there is a dispute with the quality of the work, the scribe will probably work with you to resolve the dispute, and if he does not, you are able to petition the guild hall for redress.”
“How often does that happen?”
“All the time,” she replied. “But of course, we side with the scribe in some percentage of the cases. If a particular scribe seems to acquire too frequent complaints, we investigate the person’s business practices to discover why. Sometimes it is simply because the individual, or perhaps the individual’s family is unpopular, and the complaints are unfair. But just as often, it is something he or she is doing. That doesn’t mean it is poor work, but it could be poor setting of expectations.”
“I see. I didn’t realize there was so much.”
“Most don’t,” she replied. “But do you see?”
“I do.”
“We also protect ourselves. What I have just explained takes effort.”
“Providing this protection has a cost.”
“Yes. And that cost is paid by all scribes, beginning with journeywomen, paying dues to the guild. We charge a base fee plus a percentage of the scribe’s earnings, much like the queen charges taxes.”
“I see.”
“And so we also set minimum rates.”
“Ah. And how would you set rates for my scribes?”
“That is one problem,” she said. “I am unsure how I feel that your goddess has stolen our apprentices.” She paused. “Actually, that is not quite true. I am actually rather vexed. Their former masters put effort into traini
ng them. From the sounds, the eldest two have paid in service for their training, and would both have become journeywomen on their own.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ah, the apprentice system. One signs an agreement,” she explained. “In exchange for years of training, the young boy or girl promises to also provide years of service. At first, it is the simple work any child can do, but eventually, the master hopes to recoup the cost and effort by having the apprentice perform the duties of an apprentice scribe. Do you see?”
“The repayment of a loan.”
“Yes, just so,” she agreed.
I bowed my head. “I wish no bad blood between our order and your guild.”
“Debts can be repaid,” she said simply. I looked up, wondering if I’d just been asked for a bribe. “It happens, from time to time, an apprentice must leave her master. The reasons can be varied. We not only set minimum fees a scribe must charge, but we also set a fee a master can request to free an apprentice from her contract. The amount varies based on how long she has been receiving training and how long before we estimate she would stand for journeywoman.”
“So the greatest amount would be when she is a few years from becoming a journeywoman, after years of training but with years of service remaining?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a lot?”
“It is more than the average apprentice can pay herself,” she said, “as she has little opportunity to earn such funds. But at times, a family pays the fees due to a change in situations, such as an older child becoming unable to inherit the family legacy, and so it will pass to a younger child.”
“I see.”
“The fees are not excessive, but they are not minor, either. Are you offering to pay these fees to your apprentices’ former masters?”
I considered. “Do you have the list of fees?” I finally asked.
“It can be complicated to consider, as each apprentice is unique. Not all apprentices learn at the same rate. I can perhaps offer a range of estimates, but we would need to contact each master individually for a final analysis. Do you have the details for each of your new priestesses?”
Larien produced a sheet of paper and slid it to the guild senior master. She read through it then took paper and quill and began to make notes. Larien and I waited quietly, although Larien glanced at me a few times. I patted her knee.
Finally Rustaleen blotted the paper before turning it around on her desk and sliding it to me. I picked it up and skimmed over it. “I see,” I said. “You have offered a range for each girl.”
“The rates in Marport are higher than elsewhere,” she said. “As the costs are different. And one can tell fairly quickly the quality of an apprentice and somewhat accurately guess the age he or she is most likely to become a journeywoman.”
I skimmed the numbers again. At the lower range, I actually thought they were reasonable. I was not impressed with the higher range. I set the paper back on the desk and folded my hands. “As I said, I do not wish bad blood. On the other hand, I will not be paying the higher numbers. I agree in principle that the girls’ former masters should be fairly compensated.”
“Ah,” she said. “Then we are in agreement. Fairly compensated.”
“Yes,” I said. “Let us discuss a related issue. What is the process when a master holds an apprentice longer than necessary?”
Rustaleen glanced down at the list, and it would be clear I was discussing Tyreen. She tapped the paper. “This happens in one of several ways,” she said. “You have identified one. Another could simply be that a master is a perfectionist. A master could also be elderly and training his last apprentice.”
“And holds tightly?”
“Yes. It can be unfair to the apprentice, but perhaps understandable.”
I nodded comprehension.
“The master may intend to pass his business to a favored apprentice,” she continued. “But may not be ready to make a public announcement.”
“I can appreciate that,” I said.
“And the final, of course, may be that the apprentice truly is not ready, either because she is slow to learn or sloppy in her work. Or, perhaps, simply does not hold a professional attitude.”
“She does poor work?”
“Perhaps, or she does not hold to our other ideals.”
“Ah, and would thus run afoul of the guild.”
“Yes,” said Rustaleen.
“I have not yet jumped to conclusions,” I stated.
“It is good you do not,” she replied. “So. The process. An apprentice may directly petition the guild to oversee her examination for journeywoman, bypassing her master. It is not encouraged. It will be readily evident if the girl’s skills are lacking. It will be equally evident if she has been held back. What may not be evident is the reason why.”
“She states her master has declared her not ready,” I said.
“Yes. She states.”
“I do not believe she lies to me,” I said. “But I see your point.”
Rustaleen tapped the paper before her, skimming it again, and then looked up. “I do not wish bad blood with your order, and I certainly do not wish bad blood with the palace.”
“Then we are agreed on that part,” I declared.
“We are,” she said.
She leaned forward and tapped the sheet she had written. “We must come to agreement on this, but we cannot do so until I have contacted the former masters.”
“Agreed,” I said. “But I will only pay fair compensation, and if I feel I am being taken advantage of, I have resources to draw upon.”
“You certainly do,” agreed the woman. “And so while we are not agreed on the details, we are agreed on the principles. Fair compensation.”
“Fair compensation,” I agreed.
“The one girl states her master was already seeking an opportunity to present her for journeywoman?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then that should be easy. For the other, we can perhaps, in good faith, begin informally.”
“In good faith,” I echoed. “How?”
“Bring the girl here. I will ask her to perform a set of tasks. It will take perhaps an hour for me to determine if her skills are lacking. Once I have done so, we will agree she either needs additional training, or I will offer to contact her former master for an explanation.”
“And her former master will malign the reputation of my acolyte?”
“She may,” Rustaleen admitted. “And it can be very difficult to prove otherwise. Her master will know her quality better than anyone else, after all.”
“I will say this: our goddess does not make a habit of choosing priestesses of poor moral fiber or ill disposition.”
“I know little of the ways of gods and goddesses,” the woman admitted.
“We can both envision many reasons a master may hold back a student,” I said. “Some of those reasons are entirely valid; others may not be valid, but are somewhat understandable. Let us say, for our discussion, Tyreen was held back for reasons that would not impress either of us. What happens?”
“Then the master owes compensation.”
“Is it significant?”
“It is enough to discourage the behavior,” Rustaleen said. “We do not like making such a claim. It leads to strife within the guild. We only do so when the case is most egregious, and then it often takes outside influences.”
“Such as an outraged family?”
“Yes.”
“Or perhaps an outraged high priestess?”
She snorted. “Yes.”
“And when there is no outrage?”
“Then we talk more quietly to the master. It is an unpleasant conversation for all involved, but it is done in private. And then I watch the master more carefully in the future.”
I nodded. “Will my journeywomen be qualified to teach the younger girls?”
She pursed her lips. “Yes and no,” she said finally. “The reality is that your teenage a
pprentices can teach the youngest, although perhaps not as well as someone of greater years. The journeywomen have theoretically learned everything required to become not only a journeywoman, but a master, and the difference is experience and maturity, but not training.”
“I see.”
“This is why you wish them associated with our guild, as they will be able to receive our support. We come together, and we share our experience. Do you see?”
“I do, Rustaleen,” I said. “So let us talk about that. My scribes will not perform work for the public, and you will not receive complaints for their practices. And so I might suggest that there is value for them to remain in your guild, but their dues should perhaps be only the base amount you charge all members. They should not owe additional dues for the work they perform for our goddess.”
“Perhaps,” she suggested. “But can you promise me the queen will not ask to borrow a scribe from you when before she would have sought someone from a shop down this street?”
“If she does, and if she later has complaints, she would bring them to me.”
“Can you see why this would cause hard feelings amongst the remaining guild members? It would seem as if some of the most prestigious work in the country was now directed to scribes who are barely members of the guild.”
“Do you have a suggestion?”
“If the queen asks to borrow a scribe, she should pay market prices, and your scribe’s dues to the guild will be adjusted accordingly.”
“You will omit duty to our order from these calculations?”
“We will arrive at a complete agreement,” she replied. “I am suggesting that could be a portion of our agreement.”
“I believe that would be fair,” I said.
We went back and forth on a few more points. In the end, Rustaleen said, “So. You will return this afternoon with Tyreen. In the meantime, I will contact the other masters.”
“Thank you,” I said. We stood, exchanged handclasps, and filed out.
* * * *
Three of us returned that afternoon. Tyreen was nervous, but she grew even more nervous when she realized whom she was meeting.
This time, we didn’t meet in Rustaleen’s office but instead in a copy room filled with the tools of the scribe trade. I only understood a portion of the resulting discussion, but Rustaleen spent perhaps a quarter hour asking Tyreen about her past training before digging into her knowledge in greater detail.